Sleigh Rides, Fairytales, and Happily Ever After
by Robin Red R
Summary: Wally wants Dick to tell him a bed-time story. Something "cute, fluffy, and… romantic". Nightflash and Hummingbird. [Canonish- Wally & Dick ;; 19th century!AU- Bart & Tim.] Birthday fic.


**Summary:** Wally wants Dick to tell him a bed-time story. Something "cute, fluffy, and… romantic". Nightflash + Hummingbird. [Canonish- Wally & Dick ;; 19th century!AU- Bart & Tim.]

**Warning:** T for slash (M/M), allusions to sex, mild language.

**Author's Note**: This story was inspired by Edith Wharton's novel 'Ethan Frome', though it's a lot less dark. And, of course, by the Christmas carol 'Sleigh Ride' :3 (It's never too late for Christmas, okay xD )

Beta'd by the wonderful _SageStormAshes; _thank you thank you hun, you're such a great help!

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**Dedication: **_Have a happy (late) birthday _**Bunny!**_ You are one amazing person, and I'm so glad I've gotten to know you over the last few months. You're always such a joy to talk/fangirl/rant/have a movie night with, and you never fail to give me the best encouragement and advice __EVER__ ;w; So here, adding on to the meager amount of BartTim fanfics, for you. +1 shipper ;D Happy birthday hun, love you! *hugs*_

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**Sleigh Rides, Fairytales, and Happily Ever After…**

**~x~**

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Two young men lay sprawled on their bed, limbs and covers tangled together so they were almost impossible to separate. They were both tired with that kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only came after a hard day at work, plus their latest sexcapades. Actually, it was _mostly_ because of the sex.

Dick sighed out heavily through his nose, twisting around to face his boyfriend. He trailed his fingertips lazily over Wally's naked side, following the curves of his lightly freckled, well-defined muscles, and brushing against the edges of old scars. Though he'd known Wally for more than a _decade_, and had memorized practically every inch of his body by both sight and touch, Dick still couldn't stop himself from touching him all over sometimes, marveling at the fact that his beautiful man was _his_. Wally opened an eye, his green iris reflecting the moonlight which slanted across his face. The former Boy Wonder leaned in and kissed his lips, his hands stopping their exploration by cupping Wally's ass.

The redhead chuckled, his breath ghosting over Dick's cheek. "Stop _touching_ me, you're gonna' make me hard again," he murmured into the black hair. "I'm too tiiired." Dick smiled, brushing red strands of hair out of Wally's face, and didn't answer. They were tired, yes, but not sleepy-tired. Dick didn't feel like sleeping just yet, and judging by the look Wally was giving him, neither did he.

"Tell me a story, Rob," Wally declared, accidentally using the nickname from their childhood, as he pulled the covers tighter around them both.

Dick nuzzled into the crook of Wally's neck, not giving the redhead's words his full attention as he fitted himself into the shape of Wally's body, like a puzzle piece. "Hmm? What do you mean?"

"A story, you know; usually has characters, and a plot, and is told for entertainment? Sometimes written down in these paper things called 'books'?" Wally shot him an amused grin, which only widened cheekily when Dick elbowed him in the side.

"I know what a_ story_ is, Kid Doofus. Just, _why_ do you—" he broke off, eyed Wally for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "You know what; I'm not even going to ask. But c'mon dude, I can't just think up a story for you, on the spur of the moment like this," he tried to reason.

"Sure you can. You can do _everything_, bird-boy."

Dick rolled his eyes again. "As touching as your faith in me is-"

"D_iii_ck..." Wally whined, giving him a look, and Dick could feel himself slowly yielding. Damn those green eyes.

"...What kind of story?" he asked after a moment, his tone resigned.

Wally smirked in triumph. "Something cute, and fluffy, and… romantic," he suggested, still smirking. "…please?" he added as an afterthought, seeing Dick's rather horrified expression. Trust Wally to ask sometime like _this_ of him. Dick groaned and mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like '_why_ do I put up with you', but he didn't say no. Probably because he knew that once Wally set his mind on something, nothing would persuade him otherwise. All he'd have to do was make adorable puppy-eyes, act all heartbroken, and then Dick would be guilt-tripped into agreeing anyway. He'd save himself the trouble if he just went along with it now. Dick closed his eyes in thought, licked his lips, and started.

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Once upon a time there was a young boy named Tim Drake, who lived in a mansion with his adopted father, his three brothers, and his two sisters. He had everything he could ever want: a large, (sometimes dysfunctional) but loving family, any material thing he could ever ask for since money was really not an issue, top grades in school, a definitive career path he would soon be setting out on, even... a dog. But, he still felt as if there was something missing. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

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"True love," Wally interrupted, nodding his head wisely.

Dick resisted the urge to groan out loud. "Wally, are _you_ telling the story or am _I_?" The speedster smiled sheepishly, waving a hand for him to continue.

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"Tim?" sounded Iris Allen's quiet voice. The boy looked up to see the redheaded woman with her hands covered in flour, and a winter-themed apron tied around her waist. "Would you mind heading down to the station to pick up Wally's cousin? His train's arriving in forty-five minutes, and we're all rather busy right now..." She gestured over her shoulder to the small kitchen, where Tim could see Barbara standing over a mixing bowl, evading Jason's attempts to steal a bite of cookie dough. No doubt the rest of his siblings were lurking somewhere nearby, out of sight.

Every year, the Allen family came up to this cabin in New England for part of the winter vacation, sometimes staying till New Years. They usually invited Wally, Bart, and the Garricks to come with them, though this latter had declined the invitation for the last few years due to their old age. Of course, wherever Wally West went, Tim's brother, Dick, was sure to follow. Even before the two had become boyfriends, they'd been practically joined at the hip. Besides, the Allens loved Dick like they loved their nephew and grandson, so it was no surprise that he soon joined in on their yearly excursions. After all, Gotham wasn't that far away.

It was only a matter of time after _that_ before Jason, Tim, and Barbara had tagged along, sometimes bringing Cass and Damian too (much to his displeasure). Tim himself, though, didn't usually stay long. He wasn't close to the Allens like Dick was, didn't fit in seamlessly like Babs and Jason, and so he often felt like he was just getting in the way, despite Iris assuring him that wasn't the case. He did find it a bit of a relief, though, to get out of the Wayne manor into the lighthearted atmosphere that surrounded the Allens, since Bruce was _never_ in a good mood this time of year.

However, Iris's request sent a tremor of apprehension down his spine. He resolutely ignored it, only nodding politely towards her to hide his expression. "Of course- I'll go right now." He slipped into the entrance hall, escaping her questioning gaze, and leaned against the coat-rack. He debated for a moment whether to go fetch Dick or Wally and ask them to go to the station in his place, but he wasn't sure he wanted to interrupt whatever it was they were doing upstairs in their room. Besides, he knew he was just being childish.

It was just... _Bart Allen_.

He'd never directly spoken to Wally's hyper-active cousin before. Whenever they'd crossed paths in previous years, Tim would find himself uncharacteristically thrown off, tongue-tied and jittery. He would escape at the first opportunity he could. Bart probably thought he was a mute nobody with no social skills. Or maybe he didn't think much of him at all. Bart usually came with one of his other friends in tow: Jaime Reyes, or Garfield Logan. They'd spend all of their days outside doing who-knows-what, but Tim had never joined them. He _had_ though, much to his shame, sneaked out after them once a few years ago when they'd headed off to a party in the city nearby. He'd watched through the glass window, huddled in the cold, his eyes following Bart's flushed, smiling face as he spun and danced, the rose-red of his scarf unmistakable like a beacon. Tim had then fled before he could be discovered.

But now he'd been assigned to go pick Bart up from the train station. Alone.

Tim sighed, looking longingly up the stairs once more. However, he was only met with a pair of dark, unsettling eyes glaring straight back at him with a cold expression. Tim scowled at his youngest brother, who was perched on the topmost stair, bothered by the _knowing _look Damian was giving him. He hastily shrugged on his coat, grabbed his hat, scarf, and gloves, and then slipped out the door without a word.

He headed across the yard to the stables, glancing up at the sky. The clouds were heavy and gray, promising snow soon. There was a harsh bite to the wind as it swirled around Tim's bare cheeks, but it had a fresh, rejuvenating touch to it; not the dark, smothering sensation he got from Gotham's winter.

It only took him ten minutes to harness his mare to the sleigh; he'd had enough practice over the years as it was. Checking all the buckles one last time to make sure everything was secure, and giving the horse a soft pat on her nose, he—

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"Wait, wait, wait. Stables? Horses? What are you talking about, Dick?" Wally interrupted yet again, opening one eye to look questioningly at his boyfriend. "...Sleighs?"

Dick sighed, shrugging nonchalantly. "Does it matter? Obviously it's not... a modern world. Nineteenth century, okay? They have horses." Since Wally was still eyeing him funny, Dick waved a hand towards their apartment living room by means of explanation. Their forgotten radio was still playing softly to itself, the tinkling tunes of familiar Christmas songs could be heard (despite the fact that the holiday was already over), complete with horse, bells, and sleigh references. Wally listened a moment, then grinned at Dick, understanding.

"Cute," he laughed quietly, and Dick shoved him.

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Tim gathered the reins in his hands, coaxing his mare into a trot with a flick of his wrist. The runners of the sleigh slid easily over the thick layer of snow that covered the path through the forest, which would eventually join the main road leading down to the station. The brunet shivered, tugging his coat tighter to his thin body as the wind whipped around him, swirling the top layer of snow into little eddies.

The mare stumbled into a snow drift, making the sleigh lurch, but Tim's steady hand kept her on track. He tried to recall her name... Vixen, he thought. Probably named because of her red-bay coat, which glistened in the winter sun. He focused on his horse's pelt, and the road, and the crunching sound of the sleigh running over the snow, and the wind biting his cheeks... okay, who was he kidding? He was just trying to distract himself from the obvious.

Namely, that he was going to have to spend _twenty minutes_ in a sleigh, somehow acting like a normal teenager and having a normal conversation, all with the certain redheaded object of his dreams. He pulled out his phone to check the time – (("Oh, so they had _phones _in the nineteenth century?" | "Shut it, Wally!")) – He pulled out his _pocket watch _to check the time, realizing that even with all his dillydallying he'd still be fifteen minutes early.

The waiting was the hardest part.

He brought the sleigh to a stop on a flat stretch of road above the train station. From here, he could see the tracks spreading out in each direction, as far as the eye could see. He fiddled with the reins, glancing every few seconds at the horizon from which he knew the train would come.

As an attempt to pass the time, the boy went over his father's latest homicide case in his mind. Bruce was a private detective, and Tim often joined him in poring over case files, and tossing ideas back and forth, despite his young age. He knew he would follow in his father's footsteps when he was older, no doubt about it. However, without the file on hand now and with only his memory to go on, it was kind of pointless to try and solve this particular case.

However, reciting the evidence under his breath over and over again passed the time. When the fifteen minutes were up, and Tim was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by a piercing train whistle, he almost couldn't believe it.

He watched passively as the locomotive came coasting into the station, steam billowing out in thick waves from the smoke-stack, metal screeching on metal as the great train finally came to a shuddering halt. The brunet gazed through the frame of his horse's ears as the passengers slowly began to disembark.

Tim saw him right away.

Bart's uncovered shock of red hair, perhaps not as striking as Wally's, was still conspicuous enough amidst the sea of drab grays and browns of the other passengers. That, along with the obnoxiously obvious bright pink suitcase (of all colors) which he dragged along behind him. It clashed horribly with his crimson scarf and auburn hair. Under other circumstances, the explosion of mismatched colors that was Bart Allen would have put Tim off, but right now he found it rather endearing.

Bart disengaged himself from the mass of people heading for their wagons and horses, coming to a stop in the middle of the platform. Tim could see him scanning the crowd, probably looking for Wally, or Barry and Iris. The brunet was momentarily shocked by the sharp sense of relief that flooded through him when he realized that, for once, Bart had come alone. Guiltily, he shook his head, because he shouldn't feel so shamelessly _happy _that Bart would be forced to spend the next few weeks hanging around without others his age. Other than Tim himself, of course. But that didn't really count.

It was only once the train puffed, sighing like an old man, and began to pull out of the station, that Tim realized that Bart was still standing awkwardly on the now near-empty platform. He clicked his tongue and drove the sleigh to the edge of the road, where the snow became too packed and flimsy for the runners to be able to carry it properly.

"Bart!" he called out, proud that his voice sounded perfectly normal and friendly, not betraying the thoughts which had been occupying his mind for the last five minutes.

The redhead's head snapped around, and upon spying Tim, his face brightened like someone had lit fireworks in a dark room; it was that blinding. He bounded over to the sleigh in a matter of seconds, the suitcase bumping along behind him.

"Hey! Timmy!" he exclaimed, reaching up to shake Tim's hand enthusiastically. "Dude, what's up? I haven't seen you in a _year! _How've you been?_" _

Tim was startled, rather surprised to hear that Bart even knew his name. He was even _more_ surprised by the fact that he was acting as if they were good friends, even though, in reality, they'd never exchanged more than a few words. Without answering, he got down off the sleigh and took Bart's obnoxious suitcase from his hands, hoisting it easily onto the back of the sleigh. He thanked all his agility and strength training that allowed him to do it single-handedly. But, he was pretty sure he just imagined the vaguely admiring look Bart shot his way.

"Hey," Tim greeted the redhead shyly, helping him onto the wooden seat beside him. He glanced at Bart out of the corner of his eye. The boy had changed over the year since he'd last seen him, not much, but the slight differences all added up. His jaw was more defined, cutting away some of the innocent boyishness that he'd always had, and thus giving him a slightly more mature air. He was much taller too – almost Tim's height already – and if he were to take after Wally, he'd quickly outgrow Tim too. He'd also let his hair grow out some, now varying in color from dark auburn to blond highlights, till it framed his brilliant golden eyes perfectly and brought out the flecks of amber and silver in them.

If Tim had considered him beautiful last year, it was nothing compared to now.

Flicking the reins again with a practiced movement, Tim turned the horse's nose back in the direction of the cabin. Bart was happily chattering away by his side, jumping from subject to subject, anecdote to anecdote, barely even leaving time to let himself breathe. Man, Tim had thought _Wally _was talkative, but Bart took it to a whole other level. _Must run in the family_, Tim mused.

In a way, he was glad for it; it meant he didn't have to say or do anything at all, save for a few "hmm"s and mumbled words of consent when appropriate. That is, until Bart's one-sided conversation turned to the weather, as all conversation usually does at some point.

"Why the heck is it so _cold_ here!?" Bart complained, gesturing out the side of the sleigh. "I don't know how you people can stand living through the entire winter in this. I mean, look at all the _snow! _Not that I don't like snow – who doesn't like snow?!— but don't you get sick of it? We even get snow in Central sometimes, but it's better 'cause it doesn't get this cold. My _fing_ers are gonna fall off!" And to further punctuate his last exclamation, Bart promptly stuffed his un-gloved hands into the deep pockets of Tim's coat.

The brunet jumped in surprise, almost driving the sleigh straight into a snow bank, before quickly regaining his composure. Bart's ramblings had already moved on to something else, (his first time going sledding and how he'd twisted his ankle), but Tim wasn't really listening anymore. He was hyper-aware of how close Bart was now, his lithe body brushing Tim's shoulder with every jostle, breath puffing against his ear when he laughed, his hands subconsciously burying deeper into Tim's pockets.

"Tim look, it's starting to snow!" Bart exclaimed suddenly, and Tim made the mistake of glancing over at the redhead, seeing his enraptured face tilted towards the sky. He was close enough to count the freckles on his nose, and, sure enough, to see the first few snowflakes clinging to his long lashes. Apparently, Bart's earlier condescending remarks on the New England climate were not to be taken very seriously, judging by the enthralled look on his face, and the fact that his tongue was stuck out to catch the fleeting snowflakes on.

The redhead turned to look straight at Tim then, gold eyes glittering. "Hey, can we go for a sleigh ride?" he asked, his loud voice hushed all of a sudden, as if they were conspirators in a secret.

"We _are _going for a sleigh ride," replied Tim, rather bemused.

"No, I mean a _real _sleigh ride. I've never gone on a _real _sleigh ride before. Not just… you know, going all slowly-like back to the cabin. Let's get off the road, onto the real snow, and go faster than a trot. Come on, _please?" _

Tim stared at him for a long moment, not entirely sure how to think of an answer to that. Actually, he wasn't quite capable of thinking clearly at all, seeing as Bart's _incredibly effective puppy-dog eyes _were directed straight at him. He pulled the sleigh abruptly to a stop.

Bart seemed to take his silence for assent, because he grinned brightly, tugging at Tim's sweater, and making the brunet realize that he still hadn't removed his hands from Tim's pockets.

Oh, what the hell.

He returned Bart's grin and tightened his grip on the reins, easily coaxing the mare back into a trot. He turned her off the road and into the deeper snow, knowing that he was running a risk of an injury to either of them, but doing it anyway, just for the sake of seeing the redhead's captivating expression.

…Bart was definitely becoming a bad influence on him.

It wasn't long before they were careening through the trees (at a speed Tim would never have allowed were he in his right mind), the horse's hooves sending up sprays of snow with every stride. Bart was laughing wildly in his ear, arms clutching Tim's torso as the sleigh swerved, teetering precariously on one runner before coming back down heavily. Tim thanked his excellent horsemanship for not having broken their necks… yet.

Of course, he regretted his words a minute later when the horse skidded on a patch of ice, the sleigh hit a tree sideways, and the two teenagers were sent flying headfirst into a deep snowdrift.

Tim blinked up at the sky, waiting for the trees to stop spinning. Once they eventually did, he turned his head to gaze at Bart, who was sprawled out next to him. They stared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing— the kind of exhilarated-hysteric laughter that comes from evading a dangerous experience; bubbling up from deep inside and leaving them clutching their abs. Tim knew he hadn't laughed like this in… in… he had no idea how long. Had he ever?

He almost didn't notice it when Bart sat up on his elbows and leaned across the gap that separated them, pressing his lips to Tim's in a light kiss. Tim's laughter abruptly cut off as he froze under Bart, his body stiffening in utter surprise.

_Bart Allen was kissing him_.

There was something just incomprehensibly _not right_ about that sentence. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to think that sentence. No, he had nothing against thinking that sentence at all. But it just wasn't possible that he could be thinking this sentence right now, because this was _Bart_, who was obviously not interested in guys, with whom he'd only held his first real conversation with in the last fifteen minutes, who had convinced him to go on a dangerous sleigh ride with nothing more than the power of his beautiful golden eyes…

Bart pulled away, looking just as shocked as Tim knew _he _looked, but with a shyly tentative question in his eyes. The brunet swallowed hard, trying to rein his scattered thoughts back into something resembling coherence… and not doing a particularly impressive job at it. For someone whose mental organization and analysis was one of his greatest strengths, that was kind of demoralizing. Yet, Tim decided he didn't really _need_ to think much now. Sometimes thinking too hard makes you lose the one chance you get.

He could still feel the ghost of Bart's touch lingering on his lips.

Slowly, he unclenched his fists from his sides, and reached up a hand to gently touch Bart's cheek, tracing his cheekbone. The soft smile that the younger boy let loose was perhaps not as blinding as his earlier grins had been, but it had such a sweet, shy, beautifully _happy _side to it, that it touched Tim twice as much.

Bart planted one hand on either side of Tim's shoulders and sealed their lips once again, neither of them aware of the cold, or the snow, or the wind, or the forgotten horse and sleigh, because the warmth of their two bodies cocooned them in a little bubble, removed from the rest of the world.

Maybe Tim would stay here till New Years, this time around.

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It was quiet for a long moment, and Dick was pretty sure, from Wally's deep, even breaths, that his boyfriend had fallen asleep sometime during his narrative. He smiled to himself, and leaned backwards into the warm body of the speedster, a sigh escaping his lips.

Wally's soft, sleep-laced voice brought him back to full consciousness, though. "And then what happened?" he asked, his tone blurry.

"I dunno. They went home, had hot-chocolate, made love that night, and lived happily ever after?" Dick suggested, half-smirking. Wally just wrinkled his nose, his arms tightening around Dick's waist.

"Shh, don't ruin it." The redhead sighed deeply, and Dick could feel his warm breath on the nape of his neck. "You're good at story-telling, ya know that? You'd come up with great bedtime stories for the kids."

Dick could feel himself blushing, and was glad for the darkness of the room so that Wally wouldn't see it. "_Kids_? Walls, I'm pretty sure we both grew up with the idea that _marriage_ comes before _children_."

"Mmm…" Wally yawned drowsily. "Fine then. Will you marry me, Boy Wonderful?" he mumbled, the words running together in his sleepiness.

Dick smiled fondly, and had to bite his lip and tuck his chin to his chest in an attempt to hide it. "Ask me that again tomorrow, when you're not half-asleep, you idiot, and maybe I'll have an answer for you," Dick whispered, kissing the knuckles of Wally's hand, and letting his bright blue eyes close contentedly.

Wally didn't reply because he was already asleep. And they both knew Dick's answer, anyway.

**~x~ Fin ~x~**

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_**Author's Note: **__This was a lot of fun to write, and I'm relatively pleased with how it came out. I hope you like it! And hopefully you'll join this Hummingbird ship too. Please leave me a review with your opinion, that would be appreciated ^^_


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